


Take Me to Mr. Holmes

by tangerinespock



Category: Sherlock (TV), Star Trek
Genre: Alone, Angst, Bones needs a hug, Breakup, Hugs, I’m sorry, M/M, Poem? - Freeform, Poetry, Sad, drunk, they’re stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 23:30:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19119928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tangerinespock/pseuds/tangerinespock
Summary: Jim breaks up with Leonard because he thinks he doesn’t deserve Bones.Bones doesn’t take it well and pays a visit to the nearest bar, picks up a fight and ends up in an alleyway when a stranger offers help but he’s drunk and heartbroken.(Could work for lestrade/mycroft.)





	Take Me to Mr. Holmes

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this with no particular characters/ship in mind but I’m rewatching Star Trek so I decided to make them about these two hopless romantics. It can be read as Grey/Mycroft as well! Or anyone really..  
> It looks like a poem and it rhymes but idk.... feedback is appreciated.

I’m dazed,  
confused,  
and I might’ve lost that bar-fight  
to that smug up-starter.  
might’ve drunk my way to  
the bottom of every  
bottle in  
that damned parlour.

my vision’s hazy, bit vague,  
all seems foggy,  
like a window covered with frost  
on a cold Christmas night that’s now,  
in my memory,  
forever lost.

blurry faces swinging in and out of focus,  
and my fucked-up laces  
are tripping me every  
couple of unsteady paces.  
I stumble, I tumble  
then suddenly I crumble.  
I fall and there is no bed of flowery umbel  
to ease the pain.  
I don’t think  
it makes me any more humble.

I’d crawl, but I’m too tired,  
too frail to even bother  
with it all.  
Someone picks me up,  
leaves me semi-leaning  
against a wall.

“Was it worth it?” 

did they mean him  
or the whiskey flask?  
did they mean the hangover  
or the heartache I mask?  
“I don’t know,” I said  
“depends on who and when you ask.”

They leave me there,  
and I wonder if I scared them away with my  
usual overbearing despair.

I hear voices around me everywhere,  
they surround me,  
but all I do is stare.  
It’s ironic,  
they’re begging me to stop thinking,  
to listen.  
How do I tell them that even one voice, your voice,  
was too much to bear?

I tell them to get lost.  
No – no- I don’t need a  
friend or a helping  
hand offering me to accost.  
“Get lost “  
I speak it loud,  
and expect to be  
obeyed,  
unquestioned, uncrossed.  
But when the words leave my mouth,  
the syllables slip my tongue,  
letters tossed,  
stuttering with  
exhaust.  
They slide down  
beside me,  
legs crisscrossed.  
With two solid hands,  
they engulf me,  
and I think to myself:  
“Maybe I’m turning soft.”

Sometime later,  
they hail me a cab.  
they want to take me home  
saying they’d even  
cover the tab.  
I don’t remember the address  
and I couldn’t care less.  
So I told them:  
“Take me to Mr.Holmes,  
21 Baker Street,  
and -no- it’s not a jest.  
Let them witness  
my mess!”

Perhaps, over there,  
Mrs Hudson could makes us some tea,  
while Mr. Watson argues  
with Sherlock  
and disagrees  
with me.  
I could tell them  
about you,  
recount the story of a love once easy  
to see.  
give them an unbiased overview  
of everything,  
almost like a film  
in 3-D.  
I think they might even solve the case,  
dissolve the mystery of why you went  
and left me.


End file.
